Clay
by PocketAces
Summary: The conclusion of Train Song from Running to the Beat. Songfics based on Laura Marling's "Alas, I Cannot Swim," themed around the Orpheus and Eurydice, Prometheus, and Pygmalion mythos. Starting with Train Song, Juumonji seeks to find and restore Sena.
1. Train Song

For once, I would advice reading this. Here begins a mini-series lovingly titled "Clay" by Bragi151. I'm pretty sure 'Train Song' pissed Bragi151 off, despite his claim that he loves angst, as he then told me that he was going to write a follow-up to the story to resolve it. He tossed around a couple ideas that eventually ended up becoming the bare bones of "Clay". Around that time, I got my first Laura Marling CD from my older sister and was hopelessly hooked. I immediately started looking for scenarios for her music in RttB, but all I could think of is how well 'Clay' and 'Alas, I Cannot Swim' meshed in my mind. So, I begged Bragi for permission to write 'Clay' myself as a birthday present and he generously granted me his idea and his title. 'Clay' will span about thirteen chapters and resolve 'Train Song'. I made the decision to spin this off out of Running to the Beat because it was a much more intertwined universe than my usual half-assed "one shots". Much love from me to Laura Marling for the inspiration and Bragi for everything else. If you want to show your love, pick up her CD or PM Bragi with your own reviews of the overall storyline, thanks for all his hard work, or just some love for being so goddam awesome.

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**Train Song**

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Sena was born and bred Japanese; that was an indisputable fact. Which was why, despite the fact that he usually jogged to get to where he wanted to go, he still knew how to navigate Japan's train system with ease, he decided.

Sena was standing in the entryway of one such train, gazing out the window in a trance-like state, half meditating on the oddity of his knowledge, half wondering just what he was doing on said train. He couldn't bring himself to care too deeply about why he was on the train; however, for his body felt too lax, loose, like he hadn't a care in the world.

Gazing out the window, for that matter, might have been a bit of misnomer, considering the landscape beyond the wide windows – or lack thereof – was pitch-black. It might have been better to say Sena was watching what he could see of his reflection being cast in harsh relief by the glaring florescent lights behind him.

As for the other half of Sena's concentration, well, he remembered promising to visit Juumonji-kun at Saikyodai, so that must be why he was on the train, mustn't it…? But, no, Sena realized, and glanced down at his shoulder. How could he be visiting Juumonji-kun without his duffle-bag? It had his change of clothes, his gear in case Hiruma-san actually let him practice with them, his homework that he'd been planning to do over the long weekend. Did he lose it somewhere?

A little disturbed at his lack of memory, Sena pressed hard. Where had he put his bag? When he had boarded the train, he had… No, that couldn't be right. When he had boarded the train, it had been early afternoon, and it had been pretty full. Not packed, but still, standing room only.

Frustrated with the time lapse and with the lack of weight on his shoulder, Sena felt compelled to investigate. Resolutely, he tore his gaze away from his reflection, though he still couldn't drag his eyes away from the door. He gritted his teeth in what was quickly becoming irritation at his uncooperative body. Sena tightened his grip on the hand bar he'd been clutching above him, and put as much energy as he could muster into turning around.

The train was empty. Sena gaped at the sight. Like what he was beginning to think of as 'his' window, all the others offered no view to the outside world, only resounding blackness. The florescent lights that had made a black mirror for him in his window barely shed enough harsh light to illuminate the car, and left dark pools and faded corners of shadow.

Sena frowned, and again checked his grip above his head. Where had everyone gone? He was pretty sure the train hadn't stopped yet; he thought he could feel the motion of the car beneath his feet. Still, people be damned, where was his bag?

With a frown of determination, Sena scanned the car a second time, making sure to let his eyes linger under the shaded seats. Then, upon seeing no bag, looked up. Perhaps there was an overhead compartment? No, not there either.

Sena couldn't explain why, but he was now burning with determination to find his damned duffle-bag.

Still, for some reason, Sena just didn't want to – no – it wasn't that he didn't want to move from where he was standing, it was that when he tried to turn around, he just couldn't.

This was rapidly starting to _piss Sena off_. It felt like his body was leaden, like every movement was weighted, like he was trying to walk accross the bottom of the ocean. Sena wasn't used to his body not listening to him; he was used to it complaining viciously, to it begging for rest, but in the end, his muscles _always_ responded to him. _Always._

Well, fuck _this_. He had to find his bag, damn it! Resolutely, Sena took a step forward and almost knocked himself out. While he did manage to move, he had forgotten to move his hand still attached to the bar above him, and almost swung around and knocked himself out on the vertical bar in front of him.

He chuckled nervously at his carelessness. But still, for some reason, it seemed like a worse idea to remove his hand from the slowly warming metal. Compromising, Sena slowly started stepping down the empty aisles, but slid his hand along the stainless-steel. In order to stay as close to the bar as possible, Sena felt his legs brushing against the hard, cheap plastic seats, thinly upholstered – if one could call the travesty of horrible, furry patterned plastic upholstery – but paid them no mind, even as his heart started thumping ever louder when he childishly wondered if something more monstrous than the color combinations would reach from under the darkness of and drag him to some alternate dimension to be devoured.

Still Sena marched on. Where was his duffle-bag? He kept his eyes firmly on the door that would lead him to the next carriage, and his hand firmly attached to the bar above him. He walked, passing countless black windows and endless stretches of plastic chairs, and he walked some more.

Slowly, Sena realized he should have reached the door by now. He paused, and looked behind him uncertainly, wonder how far he had gotten. To his utter shock, he couldn't even see 'his' window anymore. Just a long, shadowed tube of carriage and plastic and black glass.

Pushing back the urge to hyperventilate, Sena did what he did best. He ran. Sena, careful not to remove his hand, bolted like the hounds of hell were nipping on his heels. He didn't think he had run faster in his last match, nor the first time the mock hell-hound of Hiruma's had chased him. He ran and he ran, but he still couldn't reach the door.

Finally, overwhelmed and pissed off, Sena yelled, "NO!" and stopped in place.

"No, I will not chase this damn door. No, I will not accept the fact that I am not getting any closer; no, I will not accept the fact that I'm lost; and FUCK NO, I will not accept the fact that I cannot have my duffle-bag back, damn it! That had Kazuki's anniversary present in it, GOD DAMN IT!" Sena screamed, refusing to give in. He screwed his eyes shut and bolted forward again, bound and determined to get to the damn door.

"Woah, there, son. Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

Struck by the surreality of the situation, Sena tightened his grip on the bar to keep himself from colliding with the voice that had appeared suddenly in an empty train.

"That's right." Sena whispered to himself, his eyes still firmly shut. "I wanted to visit Kazuki Juumonji this weekend, because it's our second anniversary. He asked me out our second year, and even though I left at the end of second year, we maintained our long-distance relationship. It was harder to maintain it when we went off to university than it was to maintain it when we had an ocean between us. This weekend is our anniversary, and it was my turn to visit him. I even bought him the new warm-ups he had been admiring, but said he couldn't justify buying himself. I was taking the train to visit him. This weekend is our anniversary." Sena repeated like a mantra, to ward off the cold that was settling in his heart.

"Son? Open your eyes for me, would ya'?" The warm, old voice requested.

"I don't want to. If I do, it'll be real."

"Now, son, you went this far to wake up, don't be difficult now."

"Please," Sena all but sobbed, "Please, if I do, can I have my bag back?"

"… We'll see what we can do."

"No." Sena was fully sobbing now. "No. I've been stubborn enough to get this far, don't deny me now."

"Open your eyes, Sena Kobayakawa." The voice was no longer kindly, but harsh and guttural. "This has gone on long enough. You couldn't be content waiting for the train to pull into the station, so now you'll have to sleep for the rest of the ride."

"No. Not until Kazuki gets his present."

"Don't be stupid, boy. It was a train that took you away, but a train won't take you home. Open your eyes and forget about your damn bag. You won't need it anyway."

"No. Not until Kazuki gets his present."

The voice let out a hiss of frustration. No, it was too long to be frustration. And there was different sounding hiss answering it. Was the voice talking to the others that made up the 'we' to which it had referred to earlier?

"Damn." The voice muttered.

Suddenly, Sena felt his duffle-bag get shoved into his stomach violently, almost making him lose grip on the bar above him.

"You will ride this train to the end of the line; you will get off when we tell you. In exchange, since you're so extraordinarily difficult, you may give your present to your partner. Curl up around it and do not let go." The voice lectured, somewhere between the kind voice and the cruel voice, causing echoes in Sena's mind that chilled his bones with the frost of fear. "Open your eyes."

And Sena did.

"_I hope he's worth it."_ The voice echoed.

Sena was hit with waves and waves of overwhelming pain.

"He is." He whispered, with a soft smile as he writhed and agony and clutched his duffle. "He always was."

"We've got a live one over here!" A voice cried above him.

Sena gaped for breath like a fish out of water, his lungs trying desperately to draw in oxygen, despite the large, bloody hole in his chest.

"Hey, son, just hold on a little longer," The rescue response man urged above him, and leaned down to get a better look at the chest wound that was blocked by a large duffle-bag.

"Don't bother," The boy whispered, and the man's eyes were drawn up to the boy's horribly disfigured face. He didn't think the poor, sweetly smiling boy would ever be able to see again. "I'm dead. I just borrowed some time to complete one last errand."

The man looked away from the horror of blood burbling and bubbling and dripping from that serene smile. "Don't talk, ok, son? You're only hurting yourself."

"No."

The man froze from the resolution in that one word, and knew this was a battle he was going to lose.

"Please, won't you help me?" Gone was that resolution, and instead, the sweet, hurting boy was begging for help.

"Yes." The man answered helplessly.

"Thank you," Sena sighed. "Please, I need you to give my bag to Kazuki Juumonji at Saikyodai. His address is in my phonebook. Please, please," He whispered. "Please, it was supposed to be our anniversary. Please."

The man's eyes filled with tears, unable to say no, even to such an unusual request, with the boy below him begging with his dying breath.

"Yes." The man answered helplessly.

"Thank you." Sena sighed, for the final time.

Tears ran down the man's cheeks for the unnamed boy, as gently pried away the boys' arms from where he had clutched the bag, turning his eyes from the metal pole that had once been a hand rail in what had once been a train - rather than ruined, twisted, smoking metal mass spanning the tracks - protruding from the boy's chest cavity, and even more carefully retrieved said phone from the dead boy's pocket.

It wasn't until he had delivered the bloodied bag to the tall blond at the address written in the phone, and watched the other boy's heart break in front of his eyes, that he had to go home and sob quietly for the life cut short in front of his eyes.

But Sena knew none of that. All he knew was that he was back on the endless train, back at his door and window, but this time, he could see the gaping hole where the large chunk of flesh had been torn from the area around his eyes by his windows shattered glass. Had he been alive, of course, he wouldn't be able to see such a gruesome sight and he idly wondered if it was that, or his own ignorance had caused him to miss it earlier.

Slowly, gently, the train drew to a stop and Sena knew without looking the voice was back.

"Go on now, son. This is the last stop, and you promised." The voice was again kind.

"Yes," Sena answered steadily.

He dropped his hand from the stainless-steel bar that had anchored him so firmly and exited the train into a blinding white light, a small, serene smile settled upon his lips.


	2. Ghosts

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Laura Marling's "Alas, I Cannot Swim", her song "Ghosts" from said album, Eyeshield 21, nor Skype. I do not profit from any of these stories.

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**CLAY**

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**Ghosts**

Juumonji frowned. That wasn't Sena's nose, was it? Had it always been so squat? So pugish? No, it was cute and buttonish; it lead up to sweet-as-chocolate-brown eyes that always reflected love, even over Skype video chats from the U.S. when said eyes had also been strained from the distance and worry that Juumonji would grow as far distant emotionally just as physically.

A small, tender smile crept across the blond's face then, as he remembered his lover's unconditional affection. He leaned back, then, from his labor and, instead, picked up one of the many photographs that were scattered over his smudged coffee table and regarded his departed partner. Yup. Button nose.

"You seriously… it's not alright, Kazu-chan." A voice drifted from the now-open door.

The tender smile soured. He hated it when his friends showed up out of the blue; it usually ended up with confrontations like this.

Scowl still firmly upon his face, Juumonji swung around on his rotating stool to address Toganou.

"I'm expressing myself," Juumonji waved the unoccupied hand airily, "The councilor told me to, you should be happy."

Toganou hovered in the doorway uncertainly, clutching a bag of take-away and watching his childhood friend carefully. "Well, yeah, but, I think she meant, you know, expressing _grief._"

The scarred student shrugged indifferently. He knew he should feel bad that Toganou and Kuroki had come all the way from Tokyo to support him after Sena's death, and he knew he should be more considerate, considering they were still hurting too from their friend's death, but why should he show grief for someone he didn't consider dead?

"I don't want you going crazy at nineteen!" Toganou snapped, reading Juumonji better than any book thrown at him in high school.

"Why don't you just go over to Mamori's and stare at the chair that Sena used to sit in and group hug and cry on each other's shoulders." Juumonji retorted lazily, and turned back to the terra-cotta bust of Sena that he was sculpting. Eventually he'd have to make Sena a body too, but the trickiest part, in his opinion, was capturing the beauty, the childishness, the mischief, the innocence, the love, the determination, the _Sena-ness_ of his face.

"_Asshole_." Toganou hissed. He couldn't believe his best friend, mocking the unofficial headquarters of the former and current Devil Bat team member support center. "You _utter_ asshole." He yelled, launching the boxed lunch at Juumonji's head, even more pissed when his best friend batted it to the floor.

He held in screams of anger at Juumonji's lack of grief, cries of fear that Juumonji was slowly descending into madness—evidenced by the coffee table piled thickly with photos of Sena from every possible angle, and some, perhaps, more… intimate photos among them, and the life-sized bust of Sena that Juumonji preferred to work upon in secret, despite the moist canvas he draped over it when he knew someone was coming over, an imagined-furtive desire to re-create his lover, badly hidden in a corner of his living room—and trembled at his helplessness, trapped in his own grief and unable to pull Juumonji out of his.

"Why do you even bother with this bullshit?" Toganou asked after a long pause. "What? Do you believe in everlasting love? You believe that you and he were destined for each other?" He ridiculed cruelly as he watched Juumonji frown and sort through the handful of photos he'd picked up from the table in an attempt to figure out how to capture Sena's nose. Juumonji glanced up briefly, his frown deepening, before shaking his head in a clear dismissal and returning to the pictures.

"I may not have given him my full attention, but even half-aware, I know I saw him leave with tears streaking down his face." He told not-Toganou, and picked up a small, polished rock to smooth Sena's nose.

"You know he's just driving you mad." Not-Kurita warned, with tears in his eyes. "We all loved him too; he was my third friend _ever_. He's the one, with Hiruma-kun, that brought us all together, but we know we need to move on, we need to honor his memory, but not live for it."

"You really think you can bring him back from the dead? What makes you so special that you don't have to suffer what the rest of humanity has to suffer? Why are you so special that you get a second chance?" A not-Yukimitsu asked from the couch, and settled previously ignored course-work on the table. "Just give up and get back to class, honor his memory by excelling, not by chasing magic."

"He was fucking hot, I'll give you that." A not-Agon drawled from where he was picking though the photos for the nudes. "But necrophilia is fucking gross, just go pick-up some pussy." He goaded.

Juumonji resolutely ignored them – the voice of compassion, coaxing him, the voice of reason, persuading him, the voices of torment, taunting him. That bastard could throw what he liked at Juumonji, but the scarred lineman wouldn't fall to his knees and give up. He knew that the demons were only here to pull him off task, to prevent him from saving Sena, to steal his soul for reneging on the deal.

Instead, the tender smile once again spread across Juumonji's face, this time, a perfect match to the one being slowly sculpted across Sena's.


	3. Cross Your Fingers

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Laura Marling's "Alas, I Cannot Swim", her song "Cross Your Fingers" from said album, nor Eyeshield 21.

A/N: all the bolded work is Bragi151's. Seriously, love on up on him through his private message inbox.

**Death is a dialogue between  
The spirit and the dust.  
"Dissolve," says Death. The Spirit, "Sir,  
I have another trust."**

**Death doubts it, argues from the ground.  
The Spirit turns away,  
Just laying off, for evidence,  
An overcoat of clay.**

**-Emily Dickinson**

**Sena was violently yanked away from the comforting blinding light in front of him. The light had promised peace, it had held an offer of bliss and happiness. Now, he was being wrenched into an eternal darkness, his only company two arguing voices.**

"**You have no right to interfere," an angry cruel voice – or was it voices? The words had been spoken as if from a single mouth, a single mind, and yet, they were uttered from every corner of the darkness as if by a myriad of beings. Male and Female, Young and Old, the voices had no distinction and every bit of differentiation Sena's mind could imagine. Except for the voice that opposed it.**

"**I do as I please," _the_ voice said in opposition. It wasn't cruel. It wasn't kind. It just _was. _ It was all there was. It was all that ever would be. It was not bound by the concept of age. It was not fettered by the perception of gender. It was more than Sena could rightly comprehend, and his very soul shuddered in utter pain as _the_ voice pierced what he thought were his ears.**

"**No! He is _ours_!" the voices said again, harsh and guttural, angry at their charge being taken from them. And Sena understood instantly that's what he was. A charge. He was to be seen safely to the other side of that light, that wonderful beautiful light. Why wasn't he going? The voices outnumbered _the_ voice. Surely they would take him to the other side.**

**Sena couldn't have been more wrong.**

"**I do not recognize your petty duties or you imagined charges. Interfere with me again and I will show you that death is not the end of your foul kind," _the _voice said. There were no words that Sena could think of to describe the voice that pierced him like a lance. It simply invaded his body, forcing him to be fearful and cower at the feat of the voice. No other thought remotely entered the young man's brain, let alone words to describe the fear and utter abasement he felt.**

"**Come now, Kobayakawa Sena. For you are mine to play with as I will," _the_ voice said.**

_The _voice had said that, but when Sena could see again, all he could see was light. Everything around him was bright, blinding white light. Sena idly wondered if he had eyes to be hurt by all this light as he equally disinterestedly scanned the non-landscape for something. He wasn't quite sure what he had been looking for until he found it, though. Somewhere in the white—near, far, he genuinely couldn't tell—was a window. The window itself didn't interest Sena, other than existing as something that might not hurt his not-eyes, but the room on the other side of the window, and the person in that room was.

His not-heart clenched. Juumonji was standing in his apartment at Saikyodai, completely oblivious to Sena's eyes greedily watching his every movement.

It wasn't right though, this Juumonji. Sena frowned and tried to evaluate the likelihood of this being a trick played upon him by the Old Man or _the_ voice.

This Juumonji was treading the waters of sanity, and the toll that was being extracted was beyond obvious. Lines; wrinkles; blood-shot, bruised eyes; this Juumonji couldn't be the energetic, athletic, lively Juumonji Sena had known.

But if there was one person Sena had known in his life, it was Juumonji, and his Juumonji was lovingly sculpting an exact replica of Sena's own face in rich, smooth terra-cotta.

"Are you happy now?" Juumonji looked up from his sculpting, straight into Sena's eyes. "Are you happy?" He asked. "I'm doing this for you," he insisted, gesturing at the bust, "I'm all but jumping into your grave with you. I've not slept for days. I don't remember the last time I ate. I'm driving away all my friends for you. Only for you. Is it good enough for you yet?" He demanded, the bags under his eyes deepening with every burden brought to light.

Sena stared wordlessly—voicelessly—he wasn't sure he could have said anything if he had the words to.

"Fine. I'm not the type that quits easily, but my resentment will be etched in even the line of your jaw." Juumonji set his face humorlessly and turned away from his dead lover.

"No." Sena choked out, his voice finally unbound. "It's too much! I'm gone already; just stop it! I don't want it! I don't want to come back to your hatred. I don't want to come back, don't make me!" He screamed.

The room faded, and _the _voicethanked him for his help and he was left in the bright, alone.

Juumonji awoke to the streetlight flickering outside his living room window from the couch and draped an arm over his eyes.

In a minute he'd get up. In a minute he'd be recovered from his nap, and glimpse of a dream of Sena crying and screaming that he didn't want to come back. In a minute he'd sit up and try to master the beautiful, perfect curve of Sena's jaw, and shake away the most real, most perfect Sena-demon that he'd ever seen. Had he seen Sena-demons before? He must have, he just had. Sena. He pushed himself up.

End note: Uh, this one was a little more complex than usual. Let me know if you want me to break it down.


	4. Failure

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Laura Marling's "Alas, I Cannot Swim", her song "Failure" from said album, nor Eyeshield 21.

A/N: "_the_ voice" is literally, word for word, Bragi151's and "_the _voice's" words are lyrics or abbreviated lyrics. The tome's purpose is also word for word Bragi151's. Also: I'm getting a really weird radio silence from this story-not just reviews, but no alerts, either. Is anyone reading, or am I posting this into the void?

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Juumonji stood, staring at the grave marker at Sena's family plot.

He didn't know how he had gotten there, really, nor did he know how long he'd been standing there, alone, regarding the symbol of his loss.

It was real. Sena was never coming back. Not ever. No more teasing barbs at stupid-early times in the morning before practice. No more half-hearted attempts to teach him how to fight with his other two best friends.

Juumonji choked on a sob, unable to stop the flood of memories, but still holding back the tears.

No more cuddling—despite Juumonji's vehement protest at the term—while watching movies on long weekends and holidays. No more stupid fights over not calling enough, no more.

His eyes blurred, and a single tear started to leak, only to be angrily wiped away.

No more sweet gasps of his name or timid kisses when no one was looking or bold kisses when he didn't care who was looking.

The dam of tears broke, leaving the broken student sobbing at his former lover's grave.

"Don't cry, child." _The_ voice urged. It wasn't cruel. It wasn't kind. It just _was._ It was all there was. It was all that ever would be. It was not bound by the concept of age. It was not fettered by the perception of gender. "You'll smile again."

Fuck you! What do you know! Fuck _you_! Juumonji raged internally, blinded and muted by his racking sobs.

"It's only done when it's over."

Juumonji's hands, which had previously been blocking his face and pulling at his bangs in an attempt to manage his grief, were suddenly at chest level, reverently cradling a heavy, ancient tome.

Not even a damned book, it was a fucking _tome._

The cover was ornate and bound in what felt like leather and if it had a title it was in a language that Juumonji couldn't read and was mixed in with the whirls and curlicues stamped in and highlighted with gold.

He looked up for _the _voice and found himself alone. Dazedly, he sat in front of the Kobayakawa monument and opened the tome to "Prometheus's Soul."

It was a summoning spell.

It _also_ happened to carry very, very, very, _bad_ magic.

Tempting magic.

He scanned through the ritual, the spells, the description.

What's more important? The tome taunted as Juumonji raised his gaze again to the monument. The book filled with power? Or your lover?

Juumonji wasn't quite sure how he had gotten home, nor where he had gotten that huge fucking book sitting on the end table next to his couch that his friends couldn't seem to see. What he did know was that it was no longer the end. Sena wasn't dead, and he could prove that with his own two hands, _the_ voice had said.


	5. Old Stone

A/N: Send some love Bragi151's way via PM. In other news, I whined and you all delivered. Thanks for letting me know you're reading by alerting this story. Finally, it may seem like these chapters are getting progressively shorter, but that'll stop soon.

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Laura Marling's "Alas, I Cannot Swim", her song "Old Stone" from said album, nor Eyeshield 21. I do not profit from this story.

* * *

"Ten thousand years, and you're still on your own."

Juumonji shook his head vigorously, like a dog with a wet coat, shaking off the words.

"You know you'll never finish." Voices echoed. "He probably doesn't even want to come back."

"You'll never finish, you'll be alone _forever._"

Juumonji walked through a desert, crossing over dunes and scorching suns and verbal torments, still looking for Sena.

"He's dead. He doesn't want to come back. He's already moved on, you should too."

Abruptly, Juumonji was standing, drenched, on the wet and foggy cobblestone streets of Jack-the-Ripper era England. The rain was no relief to his thirst.

The sight of Sena jogging before him, though, was.

"Sena!" He called out for the first time, chasing after the figure. "Sena, come back!"

He ran, and he ran, and he ran.

"Sena! Come back!" He screamed, cried, called out. "SENA!"

"Sena, please." He sobbed as he awoke.

"Sena." He whispered as he dragged himself out of bed and stumbled though the dark, pausing only long enough to click a lamp on in the living room, and to pick up a loop of wire attached to a wooden handle, to begin carving out the unruly locks that he had run his fingers through so many times, before they were burned in the funeral pyre.


	6. Tap At My Window

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Laura Marling's "Alas, I Cannot Swim", her song "Tap At My Window" from said album, nor Eyeshield 21.

* * *

It was driving him mad, the constant distractions.

Tap, tap, tap.

Then again, it was designed to.

Juumonji wasn't stupid, he knew that the deal he had made with _the _voice was risky, but he just couldn't let Sena slip though his fingers, not with the glimmer of hope that had been granted to him.

He focused on the block of clay in front of him. How the hell do art students do this for fun? Juumonji couldn't even figure out where to start.

Tap, tap, tap.

It was that book he found, really. He didn't know where it had come from, but one day, one of the days that had been a blur of apathy and sharp, cutting grief, he found the book in his hand.

It was a stupid idea to begin with, and he hadn't really thought that it would work, but when the voice—somewhere between kind and cruel, that echoed in Juumonji's mind and chilled his bones with a frost of fear—offered the deal, Juumonji just couldn't say no.

Tap, tap, tap.

The deal? Simple enough: Sena's soul was still intact, and the kind/cruel summoning would bring him back, if Sena had a corporal body to inhabit.

Of course it wouldn't be that simple—if sculpting for the first time in his life with nothing less that absolute perfection was simple—there would be the kind/cruel's minions—demons distracting Juumonji. If he gave up before Sena was created, or if he failed to complete Sena before the forty days were over, the voice would take Juumonji too, and would never let him see Sena again.

Tap, tap, tap.

Gently, Juumonji ran his hand over the clay, and just for a brief moment, felt Sena's baby-soft cheek under his fingers, and saw that soft curve under the block.

Juumonji picked up the scalpel-like knife and made the first cut into the terra-cotta to form the cheek. Madness could tap at his window, and maybe before he finished, he might let him in. Juumonji didn't think he would, though, his heart was taken.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

* * *

A/N: Another really short chapter with background info and some more sads. Hey, at least we're within a couple weeks of plot? Actually, you know, fuck this. Two chapters this week. If you want someone to thank, go love up on Bragi151 some.


	7. Shine

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Laura Marling's "Alas, I Cannot Swim", her song "Shine" from said album, nor Eyeshield 21.

If you like this story half as much as I adore Bragi151, then send him some love for the storyline via PM.

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It wasn't the demons taking the shape of his friends that made Juumonji falter. It wasn't the dream of Sena begging him to stop, that he didn't want to come back from death that made him take a break from his labor of love.

It was Sena's eyes.

He was so close to completing the corporeal husk that the Tome claimed was needed for a soul to inhabit once coaxed back from death. He carefully recreated most of Sena's head. His unruly hair, his boyish face, but for—

The torso with the slim, nearly hairless pectorals. Sena's slim shoulders, deceptively delicate arms, calloused hands—easy, all of it. He could recreate all of it from memory; barely needed the reference photos.

His slim, sleek runner's legs with the corded muscles were a pleasure to sculpt, his—erm, more private areas were also easily recreated, but embarrassingly and, thankfully, completely without reference photos. His tough, firm feet that planted him so firmly and carried him so far.

But his eyes. Juumonji couldn't look into Sena's dead eyes.

xx

After _the _voice had shown Sena the window, he couldn't help but spend his time there. Time. What was time in death, anyway?

Occasionally, lost and bewildered souls would wander past, but they would easily lose interest and leave Sena to his window.

When it got too much and he managed to wrench himself away from the window, he followed the Old Man around death. The Old Man still wasn't quite happy with the stunt he'd pulled on the train, but there was no real animosity between the two, so the Old Man allowed Sena to follow, for a time, until Sena was pulled back to his window.

It was hard. So hard to watch his once-love, his still-love, being crushed under the weight of the magic, of his friends, of the demons. His cheeks were so hollow, his face lined. His eyes were the worst, though, completely losing their shine.


	8. My Manic and I

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Laura Marling's "Alas, I Cannot Swim", her song "My Manic and I" from said album, nor Eyeshield 21.

Send SO MUCH love Bragi151's way via PM if you're liking this AT ALL.

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If Juumonji was sure he could breathe at all in this form, he'd be hyperventilating right now. Somewhere above him—well, he thought about it as above him, though to be quite honest, he couldn't be quite sure where he was at all—his precious clay Sena was laying on a park bench with a kneeling Juumonji clutching his cold, hard hand (was he, though? Or was he down in this cold wasteland seeking Sena?). Some inner troublemaking part of him, which couldn't quite be quashed like he should be able to as a responsible adult, was gleefully contemplating what sorts of reactions he would be getting from the unfortunate strangers who could potentially be stumbling upon a ring of lit candles circling a college athlete clinging to and incredibly life-like clay statue on a bench in the center of an impeccably manicured lawn.

A bigger part of Juumonji was stumbling in the dimly lit realm of death, desperately seeking the soul of his lost love. The Old Man was furious that he had managed to craft Sena without doubt and with unremitting love, let alone cast the old, old, old, powerful spell to let Juumonji attempt to find the lost soul that was once housed in a similar casing.

Worse though than the angry Old Man was _the _voice. The Old Man had been charged with a duty, a duty that he felt he was violating and hated every second of, Juumonji could feel once he slipped his mortal skin to enter death, but _the _voice… Juumonji couldn't feel _the_ voice, not even in the almost limit-less expansion of his soul that chaffed at him as he brushed past the lost souls of death that were lingering and occasionally watching Juumonji's bright soul with longing. _The _voice wasn't happy, though, he didn't think. But not in the same way the Old Man wasn't happy. In a colder way.

Juumonji let out a little sound of distress. The souls—so many souls—he couldn't see around them, he couldn't find his smaller lover. Their souls, their emotions, hurt, bewildered, and distracted him. He was terrified; he had to find Sena, and he had a deadline. He must have Sena, and he must have himself and Sena out of death before dawn. How long was that? Intellectually, Juumonji knew he had about seven hours of darkness from the time he completed the ritual, but who knew how the slippery and careless time passed in death. That was the usual state of things, wasn't it? That the supernatural had a hold on the night, but in this instance, the sun wouldn't save him. _The morning is mocking me_.

Desperate and scared, Juumonji turned to the river the sea the waters of death. He walked and walked and walked and sought and sought.

_What was the use of magic and gods if he couldn't do this on his own? If he couldn't even find his Sena?_ His heart cried.

_What do I do now?_ His mind asked, _I can't find Sena. Do I flee? There were darker spells in the Tome. Do I really need Sena's soul when I can have his body?_

Juumonji's heart sneered in disgust. Most of Juumonji's mind sneered in disgust. Juumonji's soul wished he could split itself and throw the slimy, disgusting part of him that seriously considered that question into the sea the river the water of death to be washed away from him.

And in that moment of unconditional love and unconditional disgust, Juumonji found Sena.

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You guys, it's Monday! For once in my life, I'm enjoying Mondays; Mondays are the days that I get to post more Clay!


	9. Alas, I Cannot Swim

BONUS TRACK: Alas I Cannot Swim

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Laura Marling's "Alas, I Cannot Swim", her song "Alas, I Cannot Swim" from said album, nor Eyeshield 21.

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Sena felt the raw longing cutting into his very soul. And he wished that were hyperbole. He wasn't quite sure what he was anymore: human, raw energy, a literal pawn in a battle of gods and demons and his former lover's soul, he really didn't know, but he did know he was his soul and his soul was him. Not that that was really knowledge, as it seemed to only make sense in his head.

But who else did he have to explain himself to? It was just Sena, standing on the banks of the river the sea the waters of death itself. He was pretty sure that's what it was. It must be the waters of death, because Sena was standing on one side, and Juumonji and Mamori and Mom and Dad and Hiruma and Kurita and everyone—everyone—was on the other side. He watched with raw longing and a sheer _lust_ at the sunshine and life growing on the other side. He watched his loved one grieving him, but healing and moving on—like they should! Sena didn't begrudge them their own healing, but… it was so lonely and cold on his side of the sea river water.

But worse than watching his parents slowly losing and finding meaning again in their lives after the loss of their only son, was watching his one great love, his Juumonji working so hard to reclaim the life meant for Sena. It tore up the ex-runner to see his lover working so desperately hard, and for Sena to just stand and watch. _There's a boy across the river/but alas I cannot swim/and I never will get to put my arms around him/There's a life across the river/that was meant for me/instead I live my life in constant misery/There's a life across the river_. He wished, oh gods how he _wished _he could jump into the waters and swim home, but it felt like there were shackles holding him down. When he looked for the cruel metal around his ankles he could never find them, but he knew they had to be there, and he was always surprised, every time, that he could find no tangible attachment to death. All that was really holding him back, in reality—or what passes for reality here—the only thing holding him back was that he couldn't swim.

He couldn't swim, could he? Sena was pretty sure he could swim in life, but when he looked to the cold waters of death, he knew he would never make it across. _I want. I want so much!_ His soul cried, _but alas I cannot swim/I'll live my life regretting that I never jumped in._ Sena looked at his unshackled shacked ankles and wished again, _wished _he could swim.

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I actually love the ending to this chapter, truth be told. If you liked it, feel free to leave feedback either to me or to Bragi151 who provided the bare-bones that I built upon. Love to him and to all of you, readers and reviewers.


	10. The Captain and the Hourglass

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Laura Marling's "Alas, I Cannot Swim", her song "The Captain and the Hourglass" from said album, nor Eyeshield 21.

It's technically Monday, right? PM Bragi151 some praise for gifting me the story-line and for beta-ing this.

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_Sena!_ Juumonji's heart and mind and soul cried at the frozen body on the bank.

"Sena!" Juumonji cried out in blissful triumph.

"…_alas I cannot swim/and I never will get to put my arms around him/There's a life across the river/that was meant for me/instead I live my life in constant misery/There's a life across the river…" _Juumonji heard his short love whispering over and over and over in a broken refrain.

"Sena! It's fine now! I'm here for you! I'm going to bring you home!" He called desperately, struggling to reach his boyfriend who seemed to never get closer nor farther. "SENA!" He screamed.

Sena looked up.

"You're across the river." Sena informed him, matter-of-factly. "But I'm chained. I'm not chained. I can't swim. I used to be able to swim."

"No, Sena, it's fine now. I'm here." Tears streaked down Juumonji's face. "It's fine now, we're on the same side of the river, Sena."

"But," Sena frowned deepened, "that would mean you're dead. And if you're dead, there's no reason for me to cross the river, the sea, the waters."

"No, Sena," Juumonji begged, finally making progress towards his lost love. "Sena, we'll cross the river together. I'll take your hand in mine like I used to, even though we were both so embarrassed, and we'll cross the river of death, and I'll bring you back with me into life!" He declared firmly, noting with a frantic joy that the distance was steadily shrinking.

"Juumonji," the light was slowly returning to Sena's eyes. "How?" He started.

A wordless roar cut between them, and Juumonji felt his buoyant heart sinking as he recognized the presenceless presence of _the _voice.

"I've met your challenges! I've surmounted them! You aren't allowed to sweep him away now!" Juumonji cried.

"I do as I please,"_ it_ said and swept him into the water.

"NO! SENA!" He howled, in pain at the bone-chilling cold of death's waters, and almost physically in pain at how close he'd been to Sena. If he were in a mortal plane, he could swim two strokes in the water and close his arms around his once-lost lover, but of course _the _voice wouldn't make it so simple. An inarticulate cry of pain and loss was ripped from Juumonji's throat as he sought Sena again, and could feel stream of time flowing past as surely as the waters, sweeping away Juumonji's love and his life and his sanity. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Ticking away.

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H'oh shit. Well, I guess I'd be more worried about the response from leaving this as a cliffhanger if it weren't for the fact that this is a tragedy and that you all should already hate me. 3


	11. Crawled Out of the Sea

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Laura Marling's "Alas, I Cannot Swim", her song "Crawled Out Of The Sea" from said album, nor Eyeshield 21. Don't forget to PM Bragi some love.

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Nothing would compare—_Nothing_—could even come close to that moment when Juumonji watched Sena pull himself out of the water. He knew the moment his love managed to wrest himself out of the waves onto the rocky shoreline, managed to crawl out of the sea, managed to crawl straight into Juumonji's arms. It felt like triumph. It felt like joy. It felt like love. It was _everything._

He knew that this wasn't the end. He knew that they had simply crossed the river the sea the waters of death, but it was incredible, it was heady to know that Sena had shucked the shackles of death, the paralysis of ennui, of the apathy of death to crawl back into life with Juumonji. It didn't matter that there was still the insurmountable challenge of leaving death, it didn't feel unfair that he had worked so hard to even cast the spell that allowed him to challenge death to find his love, all that mattered it that Sena had broken the bonds of death, had crossed the waters of death, had crawled out of the sea straight into his arms. In death, where their souls were achingly raw, Juumonji knew that their struggles had been equal and didn't begrudge a second of his painful endeavor. Especially as he held his Sena in his arms.

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Genuinely sorry about the delay. Resolved computer issues. Three more weeks now.


	12. Your Only Doll Dora

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Laura Marling's "Alas, I Cannot Swim", her song "Your Only Doll (Dora)" from said album, nor Eyeshield 21.

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The Old Man with the kindly cruel voice that was unfathomable was actually sad to see Sena leave. It wasn't just the loss of a charge, though that was a very real part of it, but He would miss Sena's bright soul following him, Sena knew. There was an ease of connection in death, soul to soul; that's not to say that everyone will magically be telepathic in death, but, well, there was something in the Old Voice that Sena could feel and could be felt.

He could feel the irritation/rage/fear of losing a soul, though there was a real feeling of fond exasperation. He knew that Sena wouldn't stay, He could feel it in his old, old, old bones—older than dirt, younger than time, was the joke—what could he do with a Soul that refused to belong to him fully?

The Old Man was the one who guided them out, Sena and his Juumonji, lead them out of death and staved off _the_ voice. He was silent and stoic and fond and roared back at _the _voice that "A deal is a deal. You cannot cheat death so death will not cheat you."

Sena would never long for death. He would cherish every—every—second that his lover had carved for him, literally, but when his final day came for the final time, he could think of worse ways than to go softly, hand-in-hand with the kind Old Man who guided him into and out of death.

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Two more weeks.


	13. You're No God

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Laura Marling's "Alas, I Cannot Swim", her song "You're No God" from said album, nor Eyeshield 21.

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Juumonji's face was streaked with dusty tears.

He had pushed away his friends, endured torments unnumbered at the hands of demons and the Old Man himself.

But in front of him was…

"You're no god!" All the voices howled from a whirling mess in the center of the manicured lawn. "You think you've succeeded?" it/they screeched.

"You will never feel quite clean/in this new skin that you have grown/Until you old and broken bones/Are laid into their resting place/Just like the rest of human race." _The _voice and the demons and his friends and his not-friends all howled at the muddy mess on the park bench that was slowly sitting up and shedding dust and sloughing off crumbs and sheets and flakes of clay.

More tears streaked down Juumonji's face. He clasped the figure to him, brushing the debris away from the face—from the button nose, from the soft cheek, from the fluttering eyelids—tenderly, until sweet, sweet brown eyes rose, regarding him with wonder, with fear, with compassion, with overwhelming joy, with heart-rending grief.

"Sena." Juumonji choked out.

"I will learn to feel quite clean/In this new skin that I have grown/Because our young and healthy bones/Would never lead us astray." Sena voice rasped, mouth and throat dryer than they'd ever been, addressed the vortex of hatred and anger, his eyes never leaving Juumonji's.

"He's no god." Sena admitted, and reached up to stroke Juumonji's face as well, the clay flaking off, leaving only the skin that Juumonji's body and mind had been craving since before Sena had been taking away the first time. "But tonight, he's snatched two souls from your greedy claws."

The enraged howl shook the city, but didn't touch the two figures on the park bench.

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Only one more week, lovelies. What am I going to doooooo?


	14. Night Terrors

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Laura Marling's "Alas, I Cannot Swim", her song "Night Terrors" from said album, nor Eyeshield 21.

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Sena didn't remember a lot about being dead. All he remembered was waking up on a park bench in the early morning hours. There were candles circling them, dying out with jittery, guttering flames, and there'd been one, already long since burnt out, on his chest next to Juumonji's head where the blond finally slept, listening to Sena's beating heart.

It didn't seem to matter that Sena didn't remember all of death; the magic that brought Sena back and placed his soul into a clay husk that flaked away into his flesh had rewound time or rewrote memories, leaving Sena and Juumonji the only two who knew of Sena's unfortunate passing mere months before.

At night, though, Sena thought that those "mere months" must have been horrific.

At night, Sena would wake up to Juumonji's screams of terror; the raw fear and anger and anguish.

At night, Sena didn't know what to do. It was his fault, after all, that Juumonji had suffered.

There were flashes that Sena remembered. _The_ voice (though, honestly, Sena would be alright forgetting that one). He remembered feeling shackled on the shores of death. He remembered watching Juumonji sculpting his body and being tormented by the demons taking the shape of their friends.

So, when Sena was woken by Juumonji's screams, he pulled himself up, knees to his chest, cradled his own head with his arms, and kept watch. There wasn't much he could do, really. He could wake him, if he did, Juumonji wouldn't go back to sleep, but if he let him suffer, there was a small chance the dreams would subside and Juumonji would be able to rest for the remainder of the night. Maybe one night in twelve that worked, though.

So Sena kept his vigil at Juumonji's side, occasionally whispering to the window he once watched through, and occasionally whispering to his lover, "If they want you/They're going to have to fight me."

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Thus concludes Clay. Thank you all for following with me on this journey through life and death, with especial thank yous to both Bragi151, for gifting me this storyline and editing _everything_ for me, and Nightmaric for their continued support. I'd love any feedback you'd care to leave me, and, also, as a reminder, I am accepting songs for Running to the Beat prompts; nothing that would show up on a Pandora station dedicated to Taylor Swift, please. Personal preference.


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